Hunting Memories
by Newtinmpls
Summary: [Minor editing ongoing] A bosmer wakes in the ashlands, injured and unsure of how she got there. She meets up with an old Dremora companion who has found something intriguing. Morrowind story including: Menta-na.
1. Chapter 1

_Authors Note: Another late night strangeness written for no other reason than my muse shoved it into my brain. _

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

Brevia woke with an aching head and a dry mouth. She was dusty. covered with sand. struggling to get up, she realized it was more than that. She was half buried in it. Reddish sand. Ash? That was strange enough that it ought to have triggered some sort of memory. She crawled forward, pulling herself free of the pile of sand, dust. She stood, and turned. Maybe dune would be a better word. She looked slowly all around.

Reddish-grey dunes, as far as she could see in any direction. Grey clouds above her that gave no hint as to time of day. She was warm. She looked down at herself. Unfamiliar pale armor clad her arms, torso and legs. She made a fist and rapped on the cuirass. A softer sound than metal would make. It seemed sturdy, though. She put a hand to her head, and realized fully that part of her odd vision was that she wore a helmet. She reached up, struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings and managed to pull it off.

There most have been some kind of filter over hr mouth and nose, because now with the helmet off, she could smell sulfur in the fitful wind that came from ... well, turning around several times she had to admit that with no landmarks and complete cloud cover, she had no idea what direction the breeze was coming from.

She felt about her person. No weapons. No pack of any kind. She went back to the dune she'd been half-buried in, and realized that even in the short time she'd been standing up, the indentations where she'd pulled free of the ash were filling in. If she'd had any supplies, any weapon, that was surely where it would be. She started digging.

She burrowed until her arms were tired and she was covered in sweat. Nothing. Not a branch, not a blade, not a bit of anything but the damned endless dust.

Dunes of ash. White lightweight armor. The smell of sulfur. Other than tales of what particularly nasty levels of Oblivion were reputed to be like, none of it seemed familiar.

So what did she remember?

Oblivion. Place of the ... Daedra. Immortal beings. She wasn't immortal. She was ... she was ... nothing. She knew her name was Brevia. She had come from ... still nothing.

Try something else. She'd looked for a weapon. What kind of weapon? The first thing that came to mine was a gleaming translucent blade, curved and some color between gold and red. Jagged and dangerous to the untrained wielder. It was ... special. She was sure it had a name. Had she named it?

She shook her head. This wasn't getting anywhere.

She couldn't just stay here in the desert or whatever it was. She had to pick a direction, and the only guide she had was that scent of sulfur on the wind. So she started trudging forward.

As she walked she kicked up puffes of the red-grey dust.

She spent her time trying to trigger some kind of memory. Asking herself questions. What was her mother's name? Nothing. What was the last book she'd read? Nothing. Was she dedicated to a god? That brought a flicker of something. Fear ... maybe anticipation? What was her profession? That brought a wave of emotion; she clenched her fists and bared her teeth. She wanted to yell, but had no idea what she would yell, or who she was so angry with.

After a bit the anger faded.

Now her footsteps sounded more harsh. The dust was harder packed. The dunes less regular, and the underlying stone was more visible. Mottled grays; a very slight change from the reddish ash. In the distance between tall stones, she could see what looked like steam rising at irregular intervals. The source of the smell, she hoped.

Her stomach rumbled loudly.

When was the last time she had eaten? No idea. Somehow she rather thought it had been a long time. What had she eaten? Meat, of course. Then she wondered why the 'of course'. It had sounded sarcastic and angry even inside her head. As if she was replaying her part in a longstanding argument.

An argument with ...?

Nothing.

Then a distant shriek and she looked up. In the distance she saw something that wasn't quite a bird. Tail too long. Didn't circle properly - so it wasn't a vulture, which is what she would have expected iin a desolate place like this. Whatever kind of beast it was, she was sure it wasn't friendly. Quickly she put her helmet back on.

The thing sighted her and paused, wings moving just enough to keep it aloft. She saw a jagged beak, and raised her right arm, hoping that the strange pale armor would protect her from a bite.

Instead the thing pulled up sooner than she'd anticipated, and lashed out with a spine-tipped tail that arced forward like some flexible spear. It thudded hard against the middle of her chest. Had she not been braced for it, the damn thing would have knocked her over. As it was the tip of it actually dug into her strange armor.

"Y'ffre take you!" She reached inward, fueled by a surge of anger, and foced energies through her hand. A swirl of reddish energies poured out of her fingers, congealing into the ornate blade she'd seen in her mind's eye. It felt familiar, it felt right and she swung it up and across, catching the Cliff Racer's tail with the jagged projections of the blade and yanking it lower in flight before the blade ripped free.

Yes - Cliff Racer - that was definitely what the featherless jagged beaked thing was called.

Crimson blood spattered her pale armor, the drops that landed on the ground were instantly absorbed by the thirsty dust, leaving no trace. She shifted position and used the backstroke of the swing to arc higher into the base of the tail. Once again she pulled hard, and her blade bit into the tough hide. She ripped another jagged wound, and more blood flowed.

The thing swung its tail at her again, but the wounds she'd inflicted robbed the beast of some of it's strength. The tip skidded against her armor, not even a scratch this time.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she was sure that it hadn't been this easy last time. She ignored that thought, swinging again and again, ripping open the belly of the beast and finally laying it out on the sands. As she sighed with relief, and wondered what the thing would taste like raw, she felt the weapon fade from her grip, returning to where ever she'd called it from.

Promptly she called the blade again. Knowing that she wouldn't have it for long, she hastily gutted and skinned the Cliff Racer. She left the entrails for whatever scavengers might come, and made short work of slicing the choicer cuts in long strips that she could make a braid of sorts to carry them with no pack or string or tools. She ate one of them raw, savoring the sweet flesh. The blood of this creature was the most liquid she was likely to get any time soon.

Yes, she'd definitely had this before. Dressed more than one of these beasts.

She jogged forward now, following some half-familiar thought that drove her onward toward the puffs of steam.

Past the monolithic stones, she could make out circular ridges; the insides filled with reddish-brown mud, slowly bubbling in some terrible heat. She could feel sweat trickling under her armor.

Twisted branches with thorns larger than her fingers grew near the fumaroles; and thorn wasn't completely accurate. They had sharp slightly curved surfaces that faced the direction of growth. It would never do to use those as handholds to climb these plants. Closer in she spotted patches of reddish and blackish lichen, and some sort of smallish thin-leaved fern. She stared at them, looking at each one in turn. She knew she'd seen these things before. She was sure of it.

No names came to her. Not even a sense of if they were edible or not. Slowly she walked to the nearest of the twisted shrubs. The branches were as thick as her thigh. Branches and huge thorns. Bare hints of buds above each thorn. No leaves. Was it even alive? She wasn't sure.

Calling forth her blade again, she sawed through one of the smaller branches, then split it down the center into three slender lengths. Using stones to anchor them, she carefully arranged and pierced the lengths of meat. There was certainly enough heat coming off of the fumaroles to cook them, and they'd last longer that way.

She split several thorns, ending up with thin pseudo blades she could use to scrape the worst of the remaining bits of flesh from the Cliff Racer hide. While her meat cooked, she rubbed the hide with dust and ash, and repeatedly scraped it clean. Not the best choice, but it would do. By the time the meat smelled more than done, she'd gotten a decent start on curing the leather.

She would have liked to climb one of the tall monolith type stones that dotted the landscape, but they were all too smooth. What a strange and desolate place this was. For a moment there was a name on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't quite recall it.

Reluctant to give up the one landmark she'd found, she slowly made a circut of the area, keeping the steam from the fumaroles in sight.

Halfway around, the sky started to darken and the wind picked up.

Three quarters of the way around and she saw a curved shape; not just more of the endless stone or dunes, but a door of some kind. Red dust was reducing her vision as the wind howled louder and she ran for it.

The door stuck at first, and she put her weight behind it and thrust. For a moment she wondered if it might be locked. Then it opened so abruptly she fell forward into the darkness.

No, not complete darkness, as some feet along a carved but smooth corridor there was a lighted torch.

An oddly top-heavy dark shape loomed over her.

_"You come bearing food, so I'll offer the hand instead of the sword, traveler". _The voice was hoarse and gravelly and ... familiar. The language was one she knew - one she had struggled to learn.

She hastily pulled off her helmet.

Yes, a crimson eyed greenish-black scaled warrior in austere sleeveless ebony robes towered over her. Instead of an argonian's horns, he had a dual pseudo crest; the right side of it was damaged. Almost as if something very large and dangerous had taken a bit out of it.

He tilted his head as he looked down at her. "Ahhh." It was the sound of recognition. He parted his jaws in the gesture that passed for a smile among both Daedroth and Argonians.

She smiled in relief. Finally someone she knew. "Menta-Na." she said.

"So, Brevia blade-dancer, what brings you to Morrowind?"

Her mouth opened, and then closed. Morrowind. Dunmer. Newest of the Imperial provinces. Ash storms. Blight.

"Ah," she finally managed, "_That my friend, is a mystery I have not yet solved_."

Still looking at her with that curious intensity, he said. "_Let us start by cleaning your wound." _

She looked at him blankly.

He knelt and took her hand. Gently he removed her left gauntlet, and raised her palm to her head, above her left temple. Rough scales? A skullcap? No, she realized, it was blood. Long dried blood, and a great deal of it.

Well that explained some of the problems she was having with her memory.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors Note: I have taken great liberties with the physical description of Kora-Dur, mostly because I ran into it (and was inspired by the character of Menta Na) on the wiki. Given the weirdness in most of Morrowind, I expect that when and if I finally explore it in-game, I'll have to do some serious revision._

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

**~~The Calm Before the Storm~~**

Brevia gingerly felt the left side of her head. It was a little sore, but more worrying was the fact that most of that side of her head was a matted mess of dried blood and tangled hair. Admittedly the natural red-brown of her hair probably didn't clash with the color of dried blood, but judging from the expression on her companion's face, it was undoubtably something disturbing to look upon. She still had no sense of how long she had been wandering the ashlands of Morrowind or how she had gotten here.

"Come, oath-sister," Between dark scales and black sleeveless robes, the Daedroth before her was all but invisible in the shadows of the cave complex, though like most daedra, his eyes glowed slightly reddish. "Let me see to your wounds and comfort."

Brevia shook her head; finding no sense of dizziness she looked up at him. "How hospitable of you." The word she used for 'hospitable' was one that also meant 'interested in trade from a position of advantage'. The fact that she could somehow retain her fluency in Kynofex despite having no idea how or why she learned it was something she chose to ignore for the present. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for his response.

"You know me well," Menta Na admitted. "Now that you are here, I do have an enigma on which I would appreciate the opinion of a mortal."

That explained his relatively gentle welcome. He felt familiar, and trustworthy; but she was also aware that the daedra did nothing without thought for gain and trade. So there would be a price for this safety. Not that she had much of a choice. Injured and lost, she was mostly glad to be out of the storm.

Brevia followed her host through the twisted caverns. Though there was only the one torch near the entry way, at regular intervals there were small sconces inset into the walls at just above head height which gave off a pale greenish light. At first walking past them, she found herself presuming them to be ampule pods; their luminescence preserved or extended by magic.

Then a slightly lower one caught her eye. It wasn't a pod at all, but a stone. It looked a little like the greenish glass that was harvested in some places in Morrowind, but radiated a glow very like the pods and blossoms of the dragontail vine.

She extended a hand to it. No heat or chill, or even much of a sense of magikca.

Menta Na chuckled. "Always inquisitive." In Aldmeri this would be just shy of an insult, but in Kynofex it carried a connotation of willing to face danger for possible gain.

Brevia glanced at him. "Not without its risks, is curiosity, but learned friend tell me what do I behold here?"

"Aetherial glass," Menta Na's tone was one of pride, "my researches have borne some small fruits. These fragments that I have here are too limited to be of much use in the fueling of enchantments, but their radiance does not diminish over many years."

As he spoke, they entered a wider cavern area with wide step-like stones curling around the edge of the room. The far half of the room was taken up by a still pool of water. Clean water by the smell.

The pool itself was lit by a more golden radiance, which reflected across the water and caught the light of small metallic crystals in the surface of the cavern stone. It turned out to issue from a being of elemental flames. Its overall shape was humanoid, even gracefully feminine. It was garbed in a stylized cuirass, headdress and bracers that appeared darkly metallic.

Seeing the bosmer in such proximity to the daedroth, the elemental looked back and forth between them. Finally it spoke.

"Your instructions, my master?" The voice was a soft hissing, pleasant to listen to and reminiscent of the soft crackle of coals in a fire.

"Brevia Blade-Dancer, I present my servant Shardi-Nur."

The graceful creature twisted low in a respectful bow that was almost a dance.

The daedroth waved a hand toward the water. "Warm the pool to slightly less than the heat of the skin of this mer, and assist her to safely bathe and cleanse herself."

Once submerged in the warmed water, the bosmer found herself relaxing. There was a very slight current that had not been apparent from just looking at the pool. She suspected that there might be some connection to underground rivers, but now was not the time to explore it further.

Brevia was treated to a heated bath, a massage, the blood and sweat and dust was cleansed from her and from her garments, and she was even provided with a robe of the same soft shadow colored material that the daedroth was wearing.

Menta Na returned to examine her head wound. Delicate talons parted her hair and he made sounds of surprise and dismay. Finally he said. "Either you were healed by some sort of enchantment, or you must have taken this wound some time ago." He gently turned her head to him, and made a show of examining each of her eyes in turn. "If I am correct about the damage that was done." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. "You are lucky to be alive and walking."

Brevia spoke thoughtfully. "This does not bode well for the return of my memories." Immediately after she spoke, she regretted it. Admitting too much weakness would surely strain his hospitality.

"It is your skills in which I have more interest." There might have been the faintest trace of smugness in Menta Na's voice. She guessed that he had probably owed her a favor. Well, other than his hospitality she wasn't going to be able to claim it - nor could she prove her suspicion. It wasn't worth worrying about.

They feasted on a stew he had made of the Cliff Racer meats, along with many things she couldn't identify, but thoroughly enjoyed. She noted no surprise in her reactions, and concluded that she must have known he was a skilled cook.

There was water from the pool, purified by magic, as well as a thick whitish drink that was pleasant on the tongue and more than a little touched with alcohol.

"Sujamma," explained Menta Na, looking at her closely, "you have tried it before?"

She took another careful drink. "Native to Morrowind? It is distantly familiar, but no more than that." When he nodded, she said. "If you are right about the wound, I begin to suspect that my memories of this place are unlikely to return. So I shall have to re-educate my palate."

"I shall endeavor to make that process a pleasant one." Definitely a sense of smugness and pride his voice. She told herself she was probably right about his cooking.

Once they had eaten, she said. "Now that your duties as host have been fulfilled, your patience shall be rewarded. What is this enigma that you have discovered?"

"You are aware there are mystical ways to swiftly travel from one place to another?"

She nodded.

"You are familiar with any of them?"

Brevia licked her lips. "The mages' guild holds a network that allows instant travel from one guildhall to another. Only members may access it. I've heard that there may have been some magical forms of travel lost to time."

He hesitated and then said. "Have you heard of a Propylon Chamber?"

The words sounded familiar ... but they brought nothing to mind. "No." She said sadly.

"Then I will merely tell you that this is an art lost with the Dweomer wherein huge crystalline structures channel power wherein one may be sent instantly from one such construct to another. They are connected in a fixed pattern, and several transitions may be needed to undertake one's journey."

"This process sounds a little like that of the mages guide. Perhaps these crystals hold a similar enchantment to what the guild guides weave."

"Do these mages ever ... lose anyone?"

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Come, oath-sister, and you shall gaze upon my discovery."

Down another corridor, up a winding spiral of stone, and there held between the spiral path and the vaulted ceiling was a shadowed crystal that rivaled the tower-sized monoliths outside. But this was a six sided luminescent thing of shades of violet and dusk. Putting her hand gently out, it felt slightly warm, and there seemed to be a very faint vibration.

"It's beautiful," she said, "but I don't see-"

"Watch closely," Menta Na reached out a taloned hand, and gently called magicka, weaving it into a glowing pattern.

Brevia was familiar with a magelight, a small glowing sphere that usually hovered halfway between the head of the caster and whatever roof or ceiling might be present. Outdoors under and open sky it would usually linger about twenty or thirty feet above the caster.

Instead of calling it above him, he called it into being within the crystal itself.

Suddenly the violet shadows were revealed as a silhouette. She could make out a form within the crystal. Humanoid. Mer. Tall as an altmer, pale skinned and white haired. Clad in armor of some kind.

Placing her hands on the crystal, she stared more closely. His armor was worked in beautiful detail, but it was worn and damaged. His boots had been fine once, and were lined with fur, but had seen better days. A spear was strapped across his back; the head of the spear was carved and silvery. It could not have been silver, since such a metal was far too soft to make an effective weapon, but she had no other thought as to what it could be. Looking back at the armor, again, she saw a pale color reminiscent of silver or pewter, but it could not be either of those. His hands were raised, and his expression was of surprise or dismay or perhaps both. A pale circlet held snowy hair back from his face. She wasn't certain, but his eyes might be blue or violet.

She murmured softly. "Could this be a snow-elf?"

"Such is my thought as well." The daedroth agreed.

She stared at the lost elf, wondering how many years, how many centuries he had been there. "A lovely tomb, but a horrifying one."

"Not a tomb, dear bosmer."

She looked at him, startled. "Are you sure?"

Menta Na turned his gaze to the still warrior within the crystal and gently caressed the violet stone with a taloned hand. "I believe him to be alive.


	3. Chapter 3

_Authors Note: I have taken great liberties with the physical description of Kora-Dur, mostly because I ran into it (and was inspired by the character of Menta Na) on the wiki. Given the weirdness in most of Morrowind, I expect that when and if I finally explore it in-game, I'll have to do some serious revision._

**Standard disclaimer: I do not own Morrowind, or any of the other wondrous creations of Bethesda Softworks, however I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and characters of my own invention. I play with a number of mods, and when something specific appears in my story based on a mod, I will do my best to give the mod author credit.**

**~~Sword in the Stone? How about an entire Knight?~~**

The bosmer placed her hands, palms spread wide against the monolith sized violet crystal. Within it she could see the pale-skinned, mostly silvery-armored mer that had somehow been trapped within it. The attractive detail in his garb spoke of fine workmanship, and the fur trim along boots and cloak implied he came from somewhere cold. He looked startled, but not in pain, or for that matter particularly aware of his surroundings. He wore a jeweled circlet at his brow, and long, possibly silver hair was tied back at the nape of his neck by

Brevia looked from Daedroth to mer and back. "His expression and position has been unchanged since first you found him?"

Menta Na smiled. "Astute question. Yes, I believe that he has been caught within a moment of time."

The bosmer slowly added. "And you hope he can be freed of it."

"Some lore tells of a soul binding which coerces power from one trapped." The daedroth mused.

"I've heard of soul gems, but only that they use the energies of death to coil magika within an item." Brevia thought about it. Had she ever used that technique? She couldn't recall an instance, yet it somehow would have felt untrue to say she'd never done it.

Menta Na shook his head slightly, most of his attention still on the features of the knight. "Two different things, bosmer, soul trapping and soul binding. Trapping is seen more commonly on Nirn and used among men and mer. In many of the lands of Atherius, binding is more common." He paused, and looked at Brevia expectantly.

Recognizing the question in his expression as that of an instructor testing a student she said. "In trapping, one only obtains the energies of the death – hence it would neither be possible here if he yet lives as we have no way to kill him, nor would it be useful to tamper with his soul and leave his body behind."

Menta Na looked pleased. "Just so. Now what may be of interest here is that when an item bound on Atherius is depleted of its captured magicks, the creature entire is freed to attack the most recent wielder of that item."

Brevia raised her eyebrows at that. Not the most congenial way to greet such a lost one, but freeing him and fighting him was better than simply depleting his soul and killing him. "So, the question is what can we use this for, that the enchantment holding him can be depleted and we thus free him."

Inwardly she thought furiously. Bound. Bound items. Where had she heard that term before? It was on the tip of her tongue. Frustrating as Oblivion.

"Unfortunately," Menta Na murmured, "he appears to be bound to no particular use."

Brevia felt her thoughts suddenly 'click' into place. Finally something that was starting to make sense. "Use … yes, that's the key here. He's bound. A summoned bound weapon is actually a minor daedra formed into that shape. But that's not a permanent state for them, the summonings are temporary."

She bit her lower lip and drummed her fingers on the crystal. Eyes half closed she recalled a lecture in the rumbling tones of an Orisimer. "Too often it's presumed that to summon something will control it, but that depends entirely on the skill of the spell construction. Unpracticed novices with poor spell-design skills have been known to be attacked or even killed by what they summon." She grinned, suddenly recalling an old tale, "or occasionally having had their clothing stolen."

"This could work," She said thoughtfully. "Its all about restrictions, or rather the lack of them. When someone summons a minor daedra and doesn't include a binding component in the summoning; the daedra is free to do as it wishes. That also means that it is essentially set free where it is summoned."

Brevia looked up at the daedroth. "So I have two suggestions for you. First that we summon a usefully bound lesser daedra and see if any of our queries may be answered. Second that we look in your library to find assistance with deconstruction of spell formulae."

Menta Na affected surprise. "Library? In a lost cave in the midst of an ash desert?"

Brevia simply said. "You will have found a way, old friend."

"You guess my secrets all too easily." His words indicated mock-offence, but he looked pleased.

She glanced again at the trapped knight. "We need to free him, ideally without enraging him or having to control him."

"I reserve the idea of control as an option to consider."

She smiled wryly. "I rather thought you would."

**~~Reading Room~~**

Menta Na's library turned out to be located on an elevated pier of sorts, above what might be another section of the same underground waters as the pool. It was screened off by ornate tapestries, mostly orange and red, mostly symbols. They appeared to be variants of the Daedric Script, with occasional large characters in darker reds and then smaller lettering in browns and blacks. The tapestries themselves were square-ish, and the lettering didn't seem to be oriented in any particular direction.

She followed him up the stairs, wondering what sort of wood or substance it was. The grain was more coarse than the large-thorned shrubs she'd encountered. The area was lit with more of the greenish crystals set in what had probably originally been torch sconces. There was a table of the same wood and near it several chairs of close-woven netting (or maybe loose-woven fabric) over what looked to be a wooden frame. They would be comfortable. The chairs ranged in size from two that would fit either a daedroth or an Orisimer, a couple more that would fit most men or mer, and two very small ones that would be suited to a Breton or a child.

One edge of the platform was against the stone wall, and this was fixed with various shelves. Some appeared to be constructed of bone or wood and hung somehow. Two appeared to have been literally dug out of the stone wall itself. The shelves were overflowing with piles of books seemingly sorted by size, scrolls and loosely rolled parchment fitted in where ever there was room.

On the floor near the inset shelves, two books lay open, one with a length of leather, possibly meant as a page holder.

Brevia felt herself smiling. She couldn't recall much consciously, but the sight of literally as many books as he could cram into the available space brought up strong feelings of affection for the old daedroth. "And how long have you been here?"

"Not long, as my kind recons time."

She knew that could mean anything from several years to a decade. So how old was she? When had she met him? She considered … and nothing came to mind. Inwardly she shrugged. For the moment at least there was nothing to be done.

For the next week they read, argued interpretations, pointed out flaws in each other's logic and read some more. Evenings were spent playing chess, often with Shardi-Nur as a participant. To Menta Na's amusement and Brevia's dismay she was a much better player than the bosmer. Brevia also began working the cliff racer bones, using tools from Menta Na, slowly working them into flutes. She used one for practice, expecting at some point to make a mistake and break it, but was pleasantly surprised at her skill.

After the first few days, Brevia also took to practicing the one spell that she could recall; the blade summoning. She knew this couldn't be the only spell that she'd learned. But when she tried to imagine casting another spell … any other spell … she came up frustratingly blank. Finally she admitted to herself that she needed to be exposed to things, or stressed in order to trigger memory.

Which led, on day eight when they were finally completely out of food, to the bosmer and the atronach going out to hunt. The sky was cloudy, but not so much as when Brevia had first wakened. The day was fair, and Shardi-Nur's first suggestion was to take a bath in the fumaroles.

Which wasn't going to work out at all for mer flesh, thought Brevia, but hey. "You go ahead," she waved a hand. "I'll keep watch."

Shardi-Nur immediately lowered herself into the steaming fumarole with the kind of sigh the bosmer would have used for a moderately hot tub.

Brevia stepped some distance away, but kept an eye on her. Actually the bosmer wasn't sure if the atronoch was actually a 'her', but since she had a feminine shaped form, the term would do well enough.

There came the sound of heavy footfalls then. "Someone coming." Brevia called in the direction of the fumarole, knowing that Shardi-Nur's hearing was probably much better than that of any mortal creature.

Moving cautiously toward the sounds, the bosmer kept her arms loose. The blade wouldn't last long, so she wouldn't risk summoning it early and having it disappear in the midst of a battle. She felt pretty confident.

Then she eased around one of the monoliths and saw her opponents.

Two grey-scaled creatures that stood easily as tall as Menta Na, and were very nearly as wide were loping roughly toward her. They were squat but huge, and mostly made of clawed legs and an oversized mouth. Their eyes were squinted against the sunlight, and as they came, they made snorting sounds. She could see they weredrooling green ichor. Before she could back away they both saw her; tilted their heads back and roared. Then they started pawing the ground, obviously preparing to charge

It was the greenish drool that she focused on.

They were diseased. A sudden burst of memory; blight disease. Great physical strength, aggression, distortion and madness went through her mind in a moment. She had to keep a goodly amount of distance between herself and these things, and kill them fast. She had nothing to prevent a disease, or cure it.

"Y'ffre take you." She swore under her breath.

She backed away, hastily calling familiar magicka and abruptly she was holding … not the blade she'd expected, but an arrow on string. Both arrow and bow were made of the same reddish-orange as her summoned blade. Okay so she could apparently summon a bow and arrows. Shoot now, she told herself. Worry about details later. She fired and dodged back behind the nearest monolith.

From above, a fiery smoky sphere shot down. She didn't see it land, but she heard the roar of outrage that said it had been well aimed.

Backing away as quickly as possible, she waited only till she glimpsed the curve of a grey jaw, and then fired two arrows in quick succession. The first lodged under the thing's tongue. The second took out an eye.

Distantly she heard the shriek that told her that a cliff racer had noted things and was on its way to investigate.

"Right," she muttered to herself, "because I'm so bored here."

She felt the heat at her back increase. A glance told her that yes, she was moving toward the fumarole. Which gave her an idea. Shooting as fast as she could, she aimed for thigh, for the other eye. Anything to either cause pain or disorientation.

"Come and get me, pretty one." She called to it. A final shot which sent ichor dribbling over its less injured right eye, and she dodged around the fumarole. Once directly across from the creature she called again. "Keep moving, come on, you can find me." One more shot to its chest.

It roared, clearly hearing her, and furious. And it charged, barely noting the ridge of the muddy geyser. It pitched over into the blistering mud.

She had a moment to think 'oh shit' and dive wildly behind the nearest half sized monolith when the thing landed in the pit. A wave of overheated steaming muck splashed in every direction, mostly blocked by the stone that shielded her. She lay there flat on her back, thanking who ever had designed the armor she was wearing.

Above her, not one, but two cliff racers took turns with bobbing semi-dives, tails held ready as they slowly spiraled down. Unfortunately it didn't look like they were concerned about fighting each other. Apparently like vultures, cliff racers were willing to share with others of their species.

She hurriedly got to her knees, not really wanting to get much closer, but needing space to pull her bow. Forget the body; what she needed was head shots. She fired as fast as she could, only vaguely aware of distant sounds of flame and combat.

If she was lucky, the other grey-scaled beast wouldn't notice where she'd gotten to.

A triumphant and familiar roar all too close announced that was not the case.

She threw herself back just in time to avoid the grip of a drool-filled jaw. The creature had blisters on its mouth, testament to Shardi-Nur's careful aim. She scrambled to maintain some kind of balance and shot at its right knee.

The shot hit, but a whip-fast strike from behind nearly knocked her over as one of the cliff racer tails found it's mark. Brevia staggered to her knees.

"Stay down." The atronach called out.

Right. If these things kept hitting her, down was certainly where she was going to end up.

A dull boom sounded above her and a wave of heat followed. Ignoring it, she concentrated on shooting the other knee out of the beast in front of her. It staggered.

The bow faded from her hands. Crap. Well she was pretty close to these things anyway. Calling up the blade instead, she sidestepped and lightly circled around it. It struggled to turn, green ichor oozing from the wounds in its knees.

She stabbed at it, going in from the side, cutting through hide and flesh, angling the tip of the blade to seek the heart. She shoved, trying to do the most damage she could. She tried to use her grip on the weapon she'd buried inside it as a sort of handle. She moved with the beast, trying to keep away from the creature's seeking jaws.

Then something heavy landed on her from behind. She lost her grip on her weapon and sprawled, landing face down, right beside the still struggling beast. The breath was knocked out of her, and all she could do was lay there, hand still gripping the hilt of her blade. Trying to breathe.

The beast went still.

She felt whatever it was that had landed on her roughly pulled aside.

She was finally getting some air back in her lungs when she was roughly pulled upright to a semi-kneeling position. She looked up to see a darkly metallic headdress that held flaming tresses in a loose sort of order. The thing that had landed on her turned out to be a fairly singed cliff racer.

Brevia focused on the worried, rather embarrassed expression on Shardi-Nur's face.

The flame atronach gently let go of the bosmer's arm. "Um.. sorry. I got a little carried away."


End file.
